


Baby, it's no secret, we can't hide it anymore

by WrittenByMe_C



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Drama, Fluff, Friendship, Love, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship, Secrets, So much happens but also ???? nothing at all ???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenByMe_C/pseuds/WrittenByMe_C
Summary: “You don’t think they could be... you know?” Grantaire held his breath, peering around the corner in time to see Bossuet shake his head at Joly’s question.“That would be the most toxic relationship, no way.” Grantaire’s heart squeezed itself in his chest and dropped to his feet.That’s not true,he told himself,remember they only see what you want them to.His knuckles turned white around the coffee cup in his hand.***Grantaire and Enjolras have been dating for months now, but none of their friends know. What will happen when they find out?
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 127





	Baby, it's no secret, we can't hide it anymore

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song "Bad Love" by The Aces. I first started writing this to that song so give it a listen before/during/after reading to get a better feel of the piece!
> 
> Wrote most of this for an assignment (changed the names when I submitted it though) but now it's for all of you to read! Yay?
> 
> Apologies in advanced if there are any mistakes (not beta'd) or if the formatting is off; I will never understand HTML.

Grantaire was sick of it. The constant arguments, the glaring, the exasperated sighs of his friends. He and Enjolras were fighting more than ever and it was all a lie.

They’d decided, when they first started seeing each other, that their friends weren’t to know unless it became something serious. Which they swore it wouldn’t. It was just a way to get rid of all that frustration, that’s all. They were both angry at the world and they happened to find a highly entertaining way of releasing that anger.

The first problem came when their arguments became less frequent. Silence where snide remarks once bit through the air. Instead of rude gestures and shouting, there were smirks and affectionate eye-rolls. Their friends started getting suspicious and Enjolras freaked out.

Over the phone, about two weeks into their arrangement, he went on a fifteen-minute rant to Grantaire saying things like _the meetings would be derailed_ , and _they’d pry too much – you know what they’re like_ , and _it’s not like it’s anything but physical, there’s no need for them to know_ , and _I’m not_ ashamed _, Grantaire_ , _I just like privacy_. (Grantaire didn’t believe that last one much but after having a childish crush on the guy for three years he’d decided to take what he could get). They’d quickly realised that the passion and anger that had fuelled their arguments was being released in… other ways, so they started to stage fallouts to stop their friends from speculating.

The second problem came when Grantaire realised that their arrangement had only enhanced his longstanding crush. And then again two months in when Enjolras told him he felt the same.

_“We need to talk.”_ _Enjolras said as soon as he walked through the door. He threw his key – given for convenience, no other reason – into the dish by the door (Grantaire had no idea when or how said dish got there). Grantaire snorted from where he was lounging on the worn-out couch._

_“‘Hello Grantaire, have you had a good day today?’ Why yes Enjolras, I have, thank you for asking, and yourself?”_

_“Sorry, but,” Enjolras ran a hand down his face, “this is important.”_

_Grantaire sat up slowly, not wanting to startle the air too much (he hadn’t dusted since he’d moved in) (three years ago). Enjolras sat down just as gently next to him and took his hands. That was relatively new – the casual affection – and Grantaire still wasn’t used to it. It threw him for a split second but, when he refocused, he noticed how Enjolras wasn’t looking at him. The only thing stopping him from thinking the worst were the hands in his, but they were trembling so much that Grantaire’s heart was still stuttering unsteadily._

_“Enj, what’s wrong?”_ Please don’t say it’s over.

_Enjolras took a while to speak, and when he did, he spoke softly, “I think I could fall in love with you.”_

_Grantaire let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, “Really?”_

_“I understand if you don’t feel the same and you now want to call off this... arrangement we’ve had going on-”_

_“Don’t be stupid.”_

_“What?” Enjolras’ head snapped up, forever ready to argue when someone questioned his intelligence._

_Grantaire laughed slightly, pulled Enjolras closer to him, and said, “Don’t be stupid. That’s not the Enjolras I’m falling in love with.”_

(Feelings – Grantaire had thought – the downfall of humanity and perfectly crafted frenemies-with-benefits relationships. Though he’s not complaining.)

Now they’re at a point where, when they’re together it’s as if the outside world has disappeared. It’s as unbelievably cliché as it sounds. They’re disgustingly domestic to the point where Enjolras’ favourite mug _and_ blanket, along with a load of other random items, had ended up in Grantaire’s flat (how their friends hadn’t noticed that is _beyond_ them), and doing the dishes together had become such routine that when Grantaire is alone he picks up the drying cloth before he’s even thought about filling the sink with water. It was the most stable Grantaire had felt since maybe middle school; y’know, before the realisation of the insignificance of this life really set in.

But when they’re with their friends things are so different. Sure, Grantaire is the one to initiate the arguments but that’s because it’s always been that way. He can’t keep his mouth shut when he hears something he disagrees with (it got him into so many fights in high school) and Enjolras is always going on about battling some cause or another. It’s not the causes themselves that Grantaire has a problem with – he’s all for helping the homeless, women’s rights, and marriage equality – he just doesn’t think that anything will get done about it any time soon.

Enjolras gives him hope though. Once Enjolras puts his mind to something there’s no stopping him; he could break down a cement wall with his bare hands if he wanted to. The arguments – _debates_ as Enjolras constantly corrected Grantaire – were merely a way to strengthen Enjolras’ ideas. At first. Eventually, Grantaire did it just to see Enjolras go red, his eyes light up, and the smirk of sick satisfaction grace his face when he said something particularly hard to disagree with. Grantaire loved it, seeing Enjolras so passionate. He still does. But it’s becoming difficult to keep it up. When he spends all night with Enjolras stressing over the newest cause it’s hard to then argue with him about it the next day.

***

“You don’t think they could be... you know?” Grantaire held his breath, peering around the corner in time to see Bossuet shake his head at Joly’s question.

“That would be the most toxic relationship, no way.” Grantaire’s heart squeezed itself in his chest and dropped to his feet. _That’s not true_ , he told himself, _remember they only see what you want them to_. His knuckles turned white around the coffee cup in his hand.

“I don’t know, I think it would be rather sweet. Would explain a lot.” Musichetta was always Grantaire’s favourite. “Although, how often in real life do the people that argue constantly actually turn out to like each other? I feel like that’s something Hollywood made up.” He needs to rethink his favouritism.

“Where is Grantaire anyway? Didn’t he message you saying he was on his way back, Joly?” asked Bossuet, “I hope he and Enjolras haven’t started arguing again in the parking lot… I’ll go check.”

Bossuet started to stand and, in a panic, Grantaire jumped back. Heat spread over his hand. Looking down he saw that he had squeezed the coffee cup so tightly that the lid had popped off. He hissed as burning coffee ran down the back of his hand and dripped onto the floor.

“Grantaire!” Joly’s face appeared in front of his, the door to the back room of the cafe hitting the wall due to the force in which the small male threw it open in all the panic of a pre-med hypochondriac. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Musichetta and Bossuet shared a look but quickly turned their gaze back to the two in the doorway. Joly started fussing over the mess and potential burns as Grantaire tried to speak.

“Ah, nothing. The lid must not have been on properly.” Grantaire’s voice shook, as did his hands.

“To go?” Bossuet’s voice rang out over Joly’s mothering. Grantaire looked up from the mess on the floor that Joly was ruining his white shoes by standing in. Musichetta started to stand from the table to help clear up but had paused halfway at her boyfriend’s words, her eyebrow raised.

“Oh. Yeah. I was just uh, coming to tell you guys I can’t hang tonight. Forgot I had some studio time scheduled.” That was a _lie_. Grantaire was fully prepared to hang out with his friends tonight. He just got a to-go cup in case their night took an adventurous turn as it typically does. But now he knew he had to talk to Enjolras, the sooner the better.

“Aw, man!” Joly said from where he had crouched on the floor mopping up the coffee with a rag he seemed to have pulled from thin air. His small shoulders slouched as he looked up at Grantaire and whined softly, “Are you sure? We haven’t hung out in weeks.”

“I’m sure.” Grantaire said, avoiding any and all eye contact with his friends. Joly was making a huge understatement; the four of them had barely hung out at all in the last ten months. Ever since Grantaire and Enjolras had secretly become Grantaire-and-Enjolras, he could barely stomach five minutes alone with the throuple out of guilt of them not knowing.

He left quickly after that but didn’t miss the look Bossuet and Chetta exchanged.

***

“We need to stop this.” He closed the door to his flat with determination and shrugged off his jacket quickly, walking into the kitchen in time to see his boyfriend stand from his seat at the small table.

“I- What?” Enjolras’ voice was small, his eyes popping out of his head, the chipped mug in his hand simultaneously about to fall from his grip and crack under the pressure of it.

“Oh. No! Oh, God, no. Not us. I would very much like us to continue. That did not come out properly.” Grantaire rushed forward and cradled Enjolras’ face gently as he spoke. “The arguments. We need to stop the fake arguments. They’re making me… sad. For lack of a better word.”

Enjolras relaxed significantly, the scared softness that had overcome his features reverting to their usual carved-in-stone appearance. He lowered himself back into his seat and looked down into his mug, the green of the matcha tea clashing horribly with the pink and orange stripes of the ceramic. “I agree.” He said. “But they’ll ask so many questions and we can’t just _tell_ them, Grantaire. They’ll be so mad we kept it from them.”

“They’ll be angrier if we keep it from them any longer.” Grantaire reached across the table and held his hands around Enjolras’, warm from still being wrapped around the mug.

“I know. Just,” Enjolras sighed, “one more month. Please, just to figure out how to tell Combeferre and Courf.”

“I-” Grantaire shook his head, disappointed, but after quick consideration he conceded. “Okay. One more month, but after that, I’m telling people. I love having you to myself, but I want to show you off sometimes. When you get someone to change their mind at a rally I just want to stand up and shout, ‘that’s my boyfriend!’ and the fact that I can’t... it’s a damn shame.”

Enjolras chuckled and Grantaire leaned over the table to kiss him.

***

The back room of the cafe used to be a storage room until Chetta cleared it out for their weekly meetings. It was old, musty, and absolutely perfect for their little (well, actually quite large) group of revolutionaries. Three benches against the walls, one of which is a corner unit in the back right-hand corner; two small circular tables with a multitude of mismatched seats surrounding one; and a long table where the triumvirate spread out their papers as they plot their next set of rallies and appoint budgets to different causes.

One-third of that triumvirate – Combeferre – was taking fast but detailed minutes of the current meeting, while Courfeyrac – another third – was pounding his fist on the table after Enjolras – the final third – made points he particularly agreed with. The rest of their friends were scattered around the room in various states of paying attention. Feuilly and Bahorel were glancing up at Enjolras now and then as they tried to build a house of cards on Jehan’s back; the poet had seemingly fallen asleep on one of the benches. Cosette and Marius were cuddled up on the corner bench pretending to pay attention but really just getting lost in each other’s presence. (Grantaire used to find their PDA endearing although slightly gross, now he just feels sick with envy). Eponine, Chetta, Bossuet, and Joly were sat with Grantaire around one of the circular tables that they had pushed to the end of the long one to make more room for all the papers. At the rate that the Amis were going, they’d need a whole new room just for paper.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!” Grantaire said, much louder than he had intended. They hadn’t planned any arguments for today – they were trying to ease up on them so that when they came clean in a week it wouldn’t be such a shock – so Enjolras barely glanced over at him, continuing his mini-speech about getting the university to remove the middle armrests on the outdoor benches.

“-only so many hostels that are free in the area so-”

“So instead of getting the hostel owners to lessen their prices, you want to make it easier for the homeless to sleep outside?” Grantaire said. He did actually think that it was absurd to have the anti-homeless benches, but he never turns down the opportunity to argue, sorry, _debate_. And besides, the room was too quiet and Chetta had been giving him weird looks every time Enjolras had said something and he’d remained quiet.

“We’ll be tackling that issue simultaneously, but this meeting is dedicated to organising a protest at the university.” Enjolras reached out for a piece of paper near Grantaire who picked it up and glanced at it before passing it over. The blond made a few notes before taking another piece of paper from closer to him and writing hurriedly on it.

“But the university is going to do jack. Their budget is shot as it is because of the new science and med building,” Joly turned to Chetta and Bossuet and excitedly started to whisper about the new facilities, “why put more pressure on it?”

“Pressure is what makes change happen. Without it, we wouldn’t-”

“I thought people were what make change happen-”

They were talking over each other at this point, but Enjolras still wasn’t looking up at Grantaire. Instead, he continued writing, “-any point in the petitions if you’re not willing to put in the work after the fact-”

“-all these protests and rallies don’t actually _do_ anything and-”

“-besides, currently it’s not a matter of people it’s a matter of profit. We simply don’t have enough to petition the council directly-”

“Oh, so your dad’s not gonna cash out for this one?” Grantaire’s heart stopped it's pounding so suddenly he thought he had died. He’d crossed a line.

Enjolras’ pen stilled. They stood up at the same time, Joly grabbing Grantaire’s wrist in the same moment Combeferre took hold of Enjolras’ sleeve. They both shook their friends away and it seemed as if the whole room held its breath. The house of cards on Jehan’s back twirled to the floor as they sat up carefully, watching their friends. Even Cosette and Marius had pulled away from each other to see what happened. Grantaire sucked in a sharp breath.

“Enj-”

“Really?” Enjolras shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “You couldn’t have maybe thought for two seconds before you said that?”

“I’m sure what Grantaire meant was-”

“I know _exactly_ what Grantaire meant, Combeferre, and I am _damn_ sure I know more about it than you do.” Enjolras’ tone was sharper than his tongue, but instead of slinking back, ‘Ferre raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire moved around the table so that they were closer but Enjolras stepped away from him. Grantaire stopped when the blond held out a hand between them. “Please, Enjolras. I’m sorry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Grantaire could see their friends exchange bewildered looks; not once had either of them apologised during one of their arguments. Not before, when they thought they hated each other, and not recently when they pretended to. It just wasn’t done; they both knew it without having to say it. Except this time. Because this time Grantaire had screwed up.

“I can’t believe you right now.” Enjolras said, eerily calm compared to the anger in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. “You _know_ how I felt – how I still feel – about having to ask my father for help! I told you that in confidence, I specifically used the words ‘do not tell the others’ and yet, here we are!”

“Enjolras, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?” Courfeyrac asked from his place next to Combeferre. “I mean, it’s not that big of a deal that your dad-”

“He’s not overreacting!” Grantaire cut in. “I was told to keep it a secret and I didn’t. I’m genuinely sorry, Enj, please believe me.”

“Wait, how come Grantaire knows and not one of us, anyway?” Courfeyrac said, pointing between himself and Combeferre “’Ferre is treasury and we’re your best friends! Not to mention you guys hate each other.”

“No, we don’t.” Grantaire and Enjolras said at the same time, the latter much more quietly. Enjolras looked up and smiled slightly at Grantaire, who was already staring at him with too much love in his eyes considering they were in public.

“Since when? You were literally fighting not even ten minutes ago!” Courfeyrac’s confusion fell on deaf ears.

“Enj, please. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that – or at all, for that matter. I have no excuse. If I could take back the last few minutes, then I would. I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place, but we hadn’t planned for today and I know that that was for a reason but I got scared, I guess, of all the questions that we would be met with again. You said it yourself; it was so difficult, at the start. You phoned me every day so stressed out... I thought you were going to collapse from it. Even worse, selfishly I thought you were going to say we had to stop.” Courfeyrac made more confused noises but was promptly shushed by most of the room.

Enjolras took a deep shuddering breath, “Never. I’d never say that I hope you know that by now.”

“Even after I broke your trust?”

“Yes. I- I can see how I may have overreacted. I should have been honest in the first place-”

“No, don’t take the blame for this. Let me take responsibility and you stop being some sort of pseudo-martyr.” At Grantaire’s words, Enjolras chuckled slightly and stepped forward so that they were mere inches apart. “I really am sorry, Enj.”

“I know. I forgive you.” Grantaire reached out and took Enjolras’ hands in his as the blond pressed their foreheads together. There was a series of small, sharp gasps throughout the room and the two of them remembered with a shock that they weren’t actually alone.

“What?!” Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Joly said at the same time, in varying degrees of betrayal.

“What is happening? Combeferre, what is happening? Am I dying? Am I tripping? Did someone spike my drink? What is going on?” Courfeyrac was completely bewildered by what was happening. Combeferre shook his head, just as confused as his best friend, and placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on Courf’s shoulder. Joly was the first to recover.

“Oh. My. God. THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE! Guys, how could we not have seen this before? Wait, no, I totally called this a few weeks ago! Oh my God. Oh my God.” He was excitedly slapping the arms of both Bossuet and Chetta who had glanced over his head at each other with knowing smiles. “You are together, right? I’m not reading this completely wrong?”

Joly’s grin was contagious. That’s the excuse Grantaire was going with to explain why his face ached so much. He couldn’t contain it; seeing his friends so happy for him, so confused, it was heart-warming and amusing and he suddenly felt so stupid for ever trying to keep this part of his life from them. Enjolras let go of one of his hands and turned toward their friends with a steely determination that was so dramatic and so endearing that Grantaire’s grin just got wider.

Enjolras cleared his throat, “Yes, we’re together.”

The words were so simple, but they held so much weight. After the lengths they had gone to, to keep their relationship a secret, the moment felt largely anti-climactic. Still, looking around the room at his closest friends while openly holding the hand of the man he loves was an amazing experience that he’d like to relive every day if he could. He realised with a stutter that, actually, he could now. Wasn’t that something?

Combeferre asked how long they had been dating which prompted Grantaire and Enjolras to spend a few minutes debating whether the first two months counted or not. Eventually, they decided that the first two months were pivotal for their relationship and so not to count them would be an injustice (Enjolras’ choice of words, of course, not Grantaire’s).

“Wait so how did it actually start?” Courfeyrac said. Now he had gotten over the shock of his friends’ relationship he was full of questions and was determined to get answers.

“Well uh,” Grantaire scratched the back of his neck, “it was after our argument about the fair-trade coffee-”

“- which I totally won.” Enjolras cut in with a smirk. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“You definitely didn’t, you played dirty.”

“You _know_ that wasn’t me playing dirty.”

“Uhh, guys?” Joly spoke up, finally having calmed down enough to get a sentence out. “You do know you’re still in public, right?”

“Yeah, we really don’t need _those_ sorts of details.” Bossuet said with a disgusted but amused look on his face.

“Speak for yourself.” Chetta and Eponine said at the same time. Grantaire stuck his middle finger up at them.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Enjolras continued, trying to ignore the fact that his face was now redder than his jacket, “About ninety minutes after you lot had left, I was finishing off some work in here when Grantaire came back in and-”

“And you guys made out?” Eponine asked with an eager smirk, leaning forward on the table. Joly squeaked, clearly torn between being mortified about the cleanliness of the situation and loving every second of the story.

Jehan spoke up softly, “Grantaire is far too much of a romantic for that, ‘Ponine.”

Bahorel, Feuilly, Chetta, and Enjolras all snorted at that. Grantaire pouted. “I could be!”

“Not at that point you weren’t.” Enjolras said, amused. Eponine looked victorious but Enjolras quickly shut her down. “No, he came in and decided that the argument wasn’t over.”

“But we were with Grantaire, that night,” Chetta said, though she didn’t look sure. “Weren’t we?”

Bossuet and Joly looked pensive for a minute, then up at Grantaire in confusion. He took pity on them and briefly explained that Chetta and Bossuet had gotten black-out drunk and in his panic and worry over his partners Joly had conveniently forgotten about Grantaire. It gave him the perfect opportunity to slip away and annoy Enjolras some more.

“And annoy me it did.” Enjolras muttered quietly although Grantaire still heard and nudged him playfully. “He came in drunk, though not as drunk as he had been in the past-”

“I was barely tipsy – I knew exactly what I was saying and everything.” Grantaire interrupted. Someone muttered a _that makes a change_ and Grantaire shrunk in on himself slightly. Enjolras noticed and quickly tried to get the conversation back on track. He realised they were still standing so he sat down, pulling Grantaire into the seat beside him. Their hands remained joined under the table.

“And he said to me, what was it? ‘Your goddamn face needs to shut up’?”

“I’m pretty sure I said, ‘your goddamn _gorgeous_ face needs to shut up’ but thank you for trying to spare the little dignity I had left.” Enjolras let out a bark of laughter, surprising everyone but Grantaire, and squeezed his boyfriend’s hand lovingly.

“Anyway. We then went on to argue again for about another fifteen minutes before Grantaire started to freak out because he was late home. I was so confused because as you all know he lives by himself-”

“No, he doesn’t.” Feuilly, Bossuet, and Eponine said simultaneously. They shared a look that said _how do you know?_

“Well, yes I found that out when I had to drive him back to his place and help him get in so that he could feed his cat.”

“Grantaire has a cat?” Combeferre asked, bewildered. “Since when?”

“Her name is Antigone and she is not just a cat; she is my child.” Grantaire said, staring at ‘Ferre in a way that dared him to challenge the statement. Courfeyrac cooed and hurriedly whispered something to Jehan about _cat dads_.

“Cool, that doesn’t answer the question.” ‘Ferre said with a pointed look. Grantaire wondered why anyone was surprised when the bespectacled man decided to start teaching.

“At the time I’d had her for three weeks.” ‘Ferre thanked him, and Enjolras continued.

“So, we’re in his flat-” Bahorel wolf-whistled.

“Not yet, Baz, but you’re close.” Grantaire smirked as Bahorel blinked at him in astonishment.

“ _We’re in his flat_ ,” Enjolras was getting fed up with being interrupted, “and he’s tripping over himself trying to put some food down for Tig so I take over because I wasn’t about to be liable for him being injured.” There were few aw’s at the nickname for the cat, and some murmuring about Grantaire being accident-prone, but Enjolras carried on, not wanting the conversation to be derailed again. “And he starts complaining to me _about me_. It was like he didn’t even realise it was me he was complaining to.”

“I totally knew, Apollo,” Grantaire said with a grin. “I was goading you, _duh_.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “Well, yes, I worked that one out rather quickly. So, I fought back, obviously.”

“Naturally.” At least five people in the room nodded along.

“Okay, but when did you _kiss_? All I’m hearing is arguing!” Chetta asked, annoyed that the story was taking so long.

“Right, that.” Grantaire coughed, suddenly embarrassed. “So, I said something along the lines of ‘I just wish I could make that stupid perfect mouth of yours shut up for a while’ and Enjolras said ‘ _then make me_ ’ and like, what the fuck else was I supposed to do? So, I kissed him.”

“No, you didn’t _kiss_ me, you punched me with your mouth there was a definite difference.”

“I did not _punch you with my mouth_ -”

“I had a bruise the next day!”

“That’s just what happens when you make-out for like four hours-”

“Four hours!?!?” Courfeyrac shrieked. “This went on for _four_ hours?”

“Give or take.” Grantaire shrugged. Courfeyrac smirked and went to say something else but a quick elbow to the gut from Combeferre quickly shut him up.

“Wait, so you guys made out for hours and neither of you thought that meant you should pursue a relationship?” Combeferre asked, always the logical one.

Eponine snorted, “They’d have to be smart to do that.”

Enjolras glowered at her then turned to Combeferre to explain, “It was very…hateful kissing.”

“Can I just point out it wasn’t _just_ kissing after the first like five minutes? I feel like that’s important for you guys to know, even though it’s definitely bordering on oversharing.” Grantaire shook his head in disbelief that _this_ was his life now.

“Get it!” Chetta held up a hand for Grantaire to high-five. He didn’t. (Although, later on, he did pull her aside and give her a fist-bump, shyly thanking her for her support and sneakily mentioning she was always his favourite. She most certainly did not cry, thank you very much.)

“How can kissing be hateful?” Jehan asked, their voice dreamy but confused, “It’s such a beautiful way to express love.”

“Yeah, in between insults.” Grantaire snorted. Jehan gasped dramatically, although everyone was pretty sure they truly were scandalised.

“You guys were insulting each other between kisses?” Cosette spoke up from the corner. Her and Marius had completely detached now, both sitting forward with their elbows on their knees paying rapt attention to the conversation.

“I think at one point, R actually bit me out of spite.” Enjolras said, his face going red as he did so. Yep, definitely oversharing.

“Oh yeah, totally.” Grantaire said with a cheeky grin. “But it’s not like you didn’t give as good as you got. My scalp was sore for days from you pulling my hair so much.”

“Does anyone else feel super uncomfortable right now?” Marius asked, as white as a ghost under the blush that graced his face.

“No.” The rest of Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s friends said in unison. The couple sighed.

“So,” Eponine picked up the conversation, “hate sex. I’m familiar. How long did that go on for?”

“Well, two months. That’s what we were talking about before when we were deciding when the relationship started; did those two months count?” Enjolras explained.

“And how did it become…this?” Feuilly asked, gesturing to the couple.

“Enj admitted he was absolutely, heart-crushingly, embarrassingly, in-love with me.” Grantaire said, that cheeky grin still present on his face.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras levelled him with a look.

“Okay, okay!” Grantaire held up his hands in surrender, bringing one of Enjolras’ with him. Their friends followed the movement, and all of them sighed happily at the display of affection. Grantaire lowered his hands, kissing the back of Enjolras’ as he did. (Joly squealed at that. Everyone politely ignored it.) “He said he _could_ fall in love with me, and, well, you guys know I’ve loved him for years, so it wasn’t too difficult to go from there.”

Everyone was smiling, and for a second it creeped Grantaire out but then he realised they were smiling _for him_. They were happy for him; for him and Enjolras. They’d been so stupid to keep it from their friends for so long. Jehan seemed to think the same.

“Why did you keep it from us?”

Grantaire looked to Enjolras. It was largely the blond’s decision, so Grantaire let him explain.

“Well, at first it was just physical, and we didn’t want you guys to make anything out of it. Then it became serious and, well, I got scared.” Grantaire squeezed his hand. “I was scared that it wouldn’t work out and you guys would pity us, or it would split up the group somehow. And then it was a case of being scared that you guys would be angry that we kept it from you. So, we kept keeping it from you. The sneaking around was quite fun at times though.” Enjolras finished with a smirk.

“‘Ponine,” Grantaire turned to her, “you know when Monty cheated on you and you barged in and started watching Treasure Island and binging ice cream? Yeah, Enj was in my bedroom the entire time.”

“What the hell?!?” Eponine screeched, clearly upset that she hadn’t realised.

“He tidied up my room. It was disgusting.” Grantaire scrunched up his nose.

“Yeah, you’re right it _was_ disgusting, you’re lucky I was there.” Enjolras tapped on said nose and Grantaire pretended to bite his finger.

“You guys are actually adorable I can’t believe we missed out on ten months of this.” Joly cried. (Like, actually cried. There were tears.)

“So, all the arguments you guys have had over the last ten months…” Combeferre prompted.

“At least ninety-five percent of them were staged, yeah.” Grantaire nodded.

“You guys should be actors.” Joly sniffed, Chetta and Bossuet nodding beside him.

“So, the one you just had – that was plotted so you guys could tell us about the relationship, right?” Cosette asked innocently.

The room went quiet and neither Enjolras nor Grantaire would look at anyone.

“Oh,” Eponine said quietly. “That one was real.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand, prompting the artist to look at him. He smiled softly, reaffirming that he wasn’t angry at Grantaire, and the tension that had been building in Grantaire’s shoulders faded away again. They’d talk about it later when they got home, but for now, all was forgiven. (Grantaire’s brain stuttered over _home_ and suddenly wondered if that would become permanent now. He hoped it would.)

“Wait, so when were you going to tell us?” Courfeyrac asked quietly. Joly looked up at the couple with wide eyes, ready to be hurt again. It wasn’t real hurt, he didn’t think, but there were so many secrets being revealed that he was overwhelmed and that was the only way he knew how to process it all.

“Next week!” Grantaire said in a rush to console his friend. “He had until next week to decide how.”

“You wanted to tell us earlier?” Cosette asked, confused.

“I wanted to shout it from the rooftops the first moment our lips touched but, alas, I could not. For many reasons that have already been explained.” Grantaire slouched a bit. Then suddenly perked up. “But now-”

He let go of Enjolras’ hand and sprinted out the door. Everyone else got up quickly and followed him. Grantaire rushed out of the fire escape door and began his ascent. The ladders were old, rusting slightly, and creaking an awful lot, but that didn’t deter him. He kept going. He vaguely heard his name being called by a variety of voices, but he paid them no mind as he finally made his way onto the roof of the Musain. He heard someone climbing up the ladder after him, having clearly waited for Grantaire to reach the top in case it could not hold both their weight.

“Hello, world!” Grantaire shouted, stepping up to the edge of the roof carefully – the wall was low enough that he could easily topple over it – and stretching his arms out wide. He faintly heard someone say hello back from a few streets away and he laughed loudly. He noticed some movement below and looked down to see his friends trickling out of the front of the café and staring up at him. Chetta had her phone out. He waved at them.

“I’m in love!” He screamed at the top of his lungs; his head thrown back. He heard his friends cheer and he grinned wider. “I’m in love with a man name Enjolras!”

The man in question pulled up beside him, resting a hand on the small of Grantaire’s back. Grantaire turned to him and pulled him in for a long, deep kiss. Their friends cheered louder.

“Move in with me.” Grantaire whispered into Enjolras’ mouth. Enjolras nodded his head eagerly and muttered an ‘ _of course’_ just in time before Grantaire captured his mouth again.

Grantaire pulled back and took a shuddering breath. “I want to ask you something else. But I’m scared it’s too much, too soon.”

Enjolras’ eyes widened a fraction. He brought his hands up to cradle Grantaire’s face and pecked him once, twice, three times on the lips. “Ask me in a month or so. The answer will be a resounding, absolute, _yes_. But I think we need to give our friends some time to adjust.”

Grantaire almost cried from the joy and love he felt but decided instead to pull Enjolras impossibly closer and kiss him until their air ran out.

(Their friends got bored eventually and went back inside to celebrate with multiple rounds of various alcoholic beverages. Chetta sent the video to everyone in the group. It wasn’t very good quality, but over the years they all watched it from time-to-time just to remind themselves of how wonderful love could be. It was played on a loop at Grantaire and Enjolras’ wedding a year later.)

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially meant to be more angsty with some proper arguments about coming clean and what not before Les Amis found out but I skipped over that stuff for the assignment and then decided that the story was fine without it. I hope you guys feel the same!
> 
> Please kudos and leave a comment, even if it's mean lmao, I just love getting the email. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
